


and sore must be the storm

by tinglingworld



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hospitalization, No Pregnancy, Post-Episode: s11e10 My Struggle IV, Psychological Trauma, angst with a light ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23106499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinglingworld/pseuds/tinglingworld
Summary: "Hope" is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words and never stops -at all. And sweetest-in the gale- is heard and sore must be the storm that could abash the little bird that kept so many warm.She remembered standing at the docks in Norfolk talking to Mulder, as dark water rippled where two bodies had fallen into it.  "He wasn’t meant to be," she’d said.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	and sore must be the storm

**Author's Note:**

> I finally finished watching the X-Files and MSIV left me- angry. Angry and sad and frustrated and I felt the need to write something to lessen these feelings.  
> This is not a really a fix-it fic and more of an attempt to maybe take a more realistic look at the final episode because I simply cannot fathom that after everything she learns in that episode Scully would be able to remain standing and mean any of what she tells Mulder in that final scene. So here's instead my take on it.
> 
> The style is a little off, but somehow it's what felt most natural for this story. I haven't written in quite a while and the first time in a new fandom is always a little scary anyway- so please, feel free to give me all the feedback you want. I'd appreciate it

> _“Hope” is the thing with feathers -  
> _ _That perches in the soul -  
> _ _And sings the tune without the words -  
> _ _And never stops - at all -_
> 
> _And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -  
> _ _And sore must be the storm -  
> _ _That could abash the little Bird  
> _ _That kept so many warm –_

The first thing she noticed was a low rhythmic buzzing. Then footsteps. Conversations held in a nearby room. The smell of disinfectant.

 _Hospital_.

Scully hadn’t even opened her eyes yet and already longed back for unconsciousness. She was so sick of waking up in hospitals.

For a moment she searched her brain for what had happened but came up empty. She knew the memory was there, yet it remained just out of her reach. Her brain felt strangely sluggish, fuzzy, and almost as heavy as her body did.

Slowly blinking her eyes open, she expected the brightness and was still overwhelmed by it. Glancing around, her eyes adjusting to the light confirmed what her other senses had already told her: She was in the hospital.

Slowly she tried to push herself up on an elbow, her muscles quivering with the effort before giving in. Her body felt so very heavy, yet there was no immediate pain, not even a dull throbbing that usually persisted even through the heaviest of pain killers.

Too fuzzy to ponder on it, Scully gave in to her body’s weakness and instead felt around for the button to raise the headpiece of the bed until she could sit up enough to reach for the cup of water on the bedside table. Greedily she emptied it in long sips, the cold liquid both soothing her dry mouth and breathing some life back into her, lifting the fog in her mind slightly.

Whatever medication they had her on and for whatever reason, it affected her weirdly. She knew how being high on painkillers felt. She knew what coming out of anesthesia and even long-term sedation felt. She had plenty of unfortunate experiences with both, but this felt different somehow. She felt- numb? Her thoughts, her knowledge, her emotions, they were all still there but they felt so far away, as if cushioned by thick clouds. Only her immediate surroundings seemed real and tangible.

Reaching up to rub at her eyes in an attempt to dispel the feeling, she winced when she caught the IV line on the edge of the bed. Following it up to the pole the only thing hung there was a bag of fluids.

Only now did she realize that she was alone in the room. While waking up in hospitals was a tragically familiar sensation, she did not usually wake up to an empty room. In most cases there was Mulder somewhere at her bedside. Mulder or sometimes even Skinner, her mom, before, and many years ago there had been Monica and John. Now there was no one and an uncomfortable feeling settled in her stomach. Limbs still heavy, Scully pressed the nurse call button and closed her eyes again, succumbing to this weird exhaustion for just another moment.

“Ms Scully?”

She opened her eyes again at the voice addressing her and found a brunette nurse smiling at her.

“My name is Angie. How are you feeling?” she asked, stepping closer, quickly checking the IV Pump that buzzed quietly before turning her full attention back to Scully.

“Weird,” Scully replied, clearing her throat. The doctor part of her knew that was not a very helpful assessment but it was the most accurate word her foggy mind could come up with.

“I feel- fuzzy. Heavy,” she tried again.

The nurse nodded.

“That’s the meds.”

Scully really wanted to know what meds she was on but more importantly she wanted to know why she was even here.

“What happened?” She asked, searching Angie’s face for any response, “and- where is Mulder?”

She wasn’t sure on the details but assuming Mulder was close didn’t seem like a far fetch.

“You had a nervous breakdown and were admitted yesterday evening.”

 _Nervous breakdown._ Something scratched uncomfortably at the edges of Scully’s mind. Something sharp and painful. She could almost feel it trying to penetrate the fog currently clouding her from it.

“I was sedated,” she concluded, the sensation suddenly making sense.

Angie nodded, yet Scully was still convinced some lorazepam wasn’t the only thing currently numbing her system. What the hell had happened?

“Where’s Mulder?” she asked again, the weird feeling in her stomach worsening as something continued to prod at her conscious mind and all she knew for certain was that she needed Mulder here with her. Now.

“Your partner’s asleep in the waiting room. He has been discharged a couple of hours ago but refused to leave.”

“Discharged?”

“He wasn’t in a much better state than you. He refused to be treated, though, so the doctor eventually sent him home with strict instructions to rest, which he very much did not comply with seeing as he is still here.”

_Not in a much better state._

Scully felt suddenly nauseous. Her mind reeled as it tried to make sense of all these little pieces of information. And then all of a sudden, she remembered.

Angie probably deserved an award for her quick reaction as Scully’s stomach turned. She retched violently over the pink plastic bowl, simultaneously trying to gasp in air, choking for a moment, adding to the panic that now coursed through every single cell of her body.

_William! William in danger. William talking to her. William being shot. William dying. William was dead. Her son was dead._

Scully gagged and gagged long after her stomach was empty. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, clouding her vision, and the back of her throat burned as gagging turned into coughing and then sobbing. She was vaguely aware of the sudden commotion around her. Of gentle hands on her shoulders, a wet cloth against her nose and lips but none of that mattered because how could it? How could anything ever matter again when her son was dead?

_Cigarette Smoking Man. Cigarette Smoking Man’s son._

Scully felt sick all over again. Her chest constricted. She gasped for air. Suddenly there wasn’t enough oxygen.

The room got louder. Brighter. Alarms screamed and there were even more people that Scully saw but didn’t really.

What she really saw were William and Cigarette Smoking Man and dark water on the docks and the inside of a bedroom in Milford, Pennsylvania 18 years ago and she couldn’t breathe.

“Scully?”

_Mulder!_

There were hands on her face and something was pressed against her nose and suddenly there was air again that she gasped in greedily.

Her eyes managed to focus and then Mulder was right there next to her, his face only inches from hers. His hazel eyes meeting hers anchored her. To the hospital room. To the three nurses that hadn’t been there before. To the oxygen mask on her mouth and the pain in her throat. He anchored her to reality.

“William,” she whispered.

“I know.”

There was an expression on his face Scully had never seen before, but she couldn’t place it. Slowly she reached out to touch him. She ran her fingers over his scratchy cheeks, down to his chin, along his jawline. Slowly, breathing became easier and the room quieter as the heart monitor’s alarm stopped screaming. Scully kept her eyes on Mulder but it was increasingly hard to keep them open as her body grew ever heavier.

* * *

“Scully, do you hear me?”

She hummed in response, unsure if any noise actually made it past her lips. Slowly she opened her eyes.

_Hospital. Right._

“Scully?”

She moved her head on the pillow and her eyes fell on Mulder.

“Hey,” he smiled, reaching out to brush his thumb over her cheek.

“Hey,” she smiled back, leaning into the touch for a moment before pushing herself upright, “What time is it?”

“3:30, you fell back asleep a couple of hours ago. I figured I’d let you, seeing as today’s gonna be your last day of midday naps.”

There was a grin on his lips as he took her hand and cradled it gently between both of his. The touch made Scully smile.

“How do you feel?”

“Okay-ish,” she replied shifting her gaze from their hands to meet Mulder’s eyes. “Stable,” she added with a quirk of her lips.

“Scully…”, Mulder sighed in frustration.

It had been three days and he still didn’t find that funny. A shame, really.

“I’m sorry, Mulder,” she offered an apologetic smile and he rolled his eyes good-naturedly, “I really do feel okay though.”

“This drug cocktail they have you on gives you a weird sense of humor.”

“Probably because everything feels slightly distant,” she replied, rubbing at the itchy Tegaderm taping the IV in place in the crook of her arm.

“Do you still feel spacey?” he asked softly.

“No. No, I think they’ve got the dosing right now. It’s- it feels like,” she struggled to find the right comparison to explain her reality of the past days, “it’s like there’s an invisible wall or a window, or maybe a curtain. I can still see and hear and feel everything but it’s- further away. Quieter and a little fuzzy around the edges but not in a bad way.”

Mulder nodded slowly, even though he couldn’t possibly fully understand.

“How’s your session been?” Scully changed the topic, done talking about herself, but also genuinely interested in how he had been.

"Okay. Good.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Fine- actually, I have no idea. I honestly don’t understand therapy. I go there and expect nothing but eventually I’ll end up saying things I didn’t even know I felt. So I suppose it helps.”

He looked so sheepish and it made Scully smile. She was glad he was doing okay.

“What about you?” he asked in return, “You’re gonna be discharged later. Excited?”

She shook her head at his playful tone when he knew exactly she wasn’t actually being discharged.

“I am literally going to walk downstairs, across that pretty walkway you can see out the window there and be admitted right into the next clinic.”

He shrugged dismissively.

“Still gonna be discharged from _this_ hospital. 5 Minutes of freedom, gotta use it wisely!”

He still grinned and it made Scully smile too. As always, he managed to lighten the mood when she didn’t even know it needed lightening.

“You didn’t answer the question, though.”

Their eyes locked and after so many years it still amazed Scully how much emotion they were able to communicate with just one look.

She took a deep breath.

“Well, I wouldn’t use the word ‘excited’, but I am ready for it. Also I suppose I would be a lot more nervous than I actually am without the nice cocktail of sedatives and antipsychotics I’ve been enjoying.”

Mulder nodded slowly, drawing gentle circles into the back of her hand.

“We’re really doing this right this time around, aren’t we?” He mused, expression turned thoughtful.

Scully turned her hand in Mulders’ and stopped his movements to make him look at her.

“I think we’ve reached a point where our default ‘not doing it at all’ would actually kill us.”

He sighed deeply in response, dropping his gaze and just from the worry lines appearing on his forehead, Scully knew he was thinking back to the evening she was admitted.

She still didn’t remember all the details, which in itself spoke a lot about her condition. She remembered standing at the docks in Norfolk talking to Mulder, as dark water rippled where two bodies had fallen into it. She remembered trying to rationalize what had happened. ‘He wasn’t meant to be,’ she’d said and that stood out for some reason. She remembered seeing Mulder’s pain and wanting to take it away and then not much afterwards. They were home in Washington now, but she had no recollection of how they got back.

She’d been admitted as “unresponsive and hostile” and still hadn’t been told what exactly that had entailed. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted to know. What she was sure of, was that this had been a wake-up call. She didn’t need to be a psychiatrist or even a doctor to understand that this breakdown had been her body and psyche’s final call for help after too many years of abuse. When she’d woken up the evening of the day after, her second time waking up, not that she could recall the first, she had had a long talk with Dr. Evans, the admitting doctor. After agreeing to keep her medicated and resting for a few days, he had offered her a place in the hospital’s adjoining residential psychiatric clinic.

  
Never in a million years had Scully thought that was something she would one day need, but here she was. Right now it was the only sensible thing. She had meant what she’d said to Mulder. This- William’s death, and the questions it left open- was the last straw for both of them and if they didn’t deal with their trauma now it might just finally eat them alive.

While she had been mostly sleeping through the past days, Mulder had been seeing an emergency counsellor and agreed to start seeing a therapist regularly. She wasn’t sure yet how long she’d stay inpatient, but they were both taking the steps they needed to start healing.

“Scully?”

“Hmm?” she snapped her eyes back onto Mulder.

“Where’d you go just then?” he asked gently.

“I was just thinking,” she replied, “this is a good thing.”

She realized she should probably elaborate what she was referring to, but Mulder leaned in and ran his thumb gently over her cheek before kissing her sweetly.

“It is a good thing,” he agreed fully understanding what she meant.

Scully smiled, bringing a hand up to his neck and pulling him back in for another kiss. As she looked at him after they parted, eyes unguarded with that puppy dog smile on his lips and this unspoken understanding between them, she felt so much comfort from his simple presence that a sudden clarity came over her. Warmth settled deep in her stomach at the realization.

“Mulder,” she started slowly, “once we’ve- both found our footing again-“ Tangling her fingers in the hair at his neck, she paused nervously for a moment after all.

“Yes?” he prodded gently, running his fingers over her cheeks, down her shoulders before curling them around her forearms.

“Will you marry me?” The words tumbled out quickly and she immediately closed her eyes like a child, unable to look at him while waiting for a response.

“Dana Scully, did you just propose to me?”

The absolute over-the-top mock shock in his voice effectively eased her tension and she opened her eyes to roll them at Mulder in the wonderfully familiar way she had perfected over all this time with him.

“You know fine well that _you_ were the one proposing to me 12 years ago!”

“And might I remember you that you said no,” he retorted with a grin.

“I said ‘not now’, that’s different! We were fugitives on the run and all.”

He still grinned widely and she wanted simultaneously to smack him over the head with something and kiss him stupid to make that grin disappear. His being so nonchalant about the whole thing made her heart and mind race the longer he didn’t give her a definite answer, even if realistically she was pretty sure she knew what it would be already.

“So now you’re saying yes?” he continued to tease.

“Yes, for fuck’s sake, Mulder! I am saying yes!”

He laughed, actually laughed, and she was just about to do- something, when he got up, planted himself next to her on the bed, brought his hands up to frame her face and caught her eyes conveying 25 years of love with one look.

“Yes, Scully, yes I will marry you.”

When he leaned in and kissed her, she all but melted into his lips and his body and she felt the whole world shifting before settling firmly back into place as he brought his arms around her waist and drew her closer. This was how she wanted it to be for the rest of her life: feeling warm and safe and loved. Right now she knew it was just this short moment, but she was willing to put in all the work it took to make it permanent, even if it scared her.

“I might have a very long way to go-“, she admitted to that quietly, when she eventually rested her head against his shoulder, “you know- before being okay.”

“That’s okay. I might have, too,” he replied, and she could feel his lips press firmly against her temple.

> I’ve heard it in the chillest land -  
> And on the strangest Sea -  
> Yet - never - in Extremity,  
> It asked a crumb - of me.

**Author's Note:**

> poem "Hope is the thing with feathers" no. 314, by Emily Dickinson


End file.
